


You Always Tell This Story Wrong

by RosalindInPants



Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Canon Rewrite, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV switch, Sort Of, Storytelling, stormcrow rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-08-13 16:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalindInPants/pseuds/RosalindInPants
Summary: Shortly after Wolfe's return home from Rome, Santi tells him a familiar, comforting story while he rests.This is "Stormcrow" rewritten in combined first/second point of view.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You can find "Stormcrow" here if you haven't seen it already: https://www.wattpad.com/story/68703816-stormcrow
> 
> It's a very sweet first meeting story, but it doesn't quite line up with canon on a few points. This is my attempt to resolve that while experimenting with POV.

You need to rest, Chris. Let me tell you a story. There, lie back.

Remember the day we fell in love? You always tell this story wrong. You say it was the day we met, but you know that isn’t true.

We met in Ptolemy House, at dinner, the night before class began. I know, I know, we barely spoke, it hardly counts. I can’t even remember what we said to each other, but I do remember thinking you were brilliant, even then. You looked completely at home sitting at a desk with books spread out before you, writing notes in shorthand I couldn’t even decipher. True, you were arrogant and unsociable, but in class you answered every question asked of you without hesitation. No surprise that you graduated with a gold band and every honor that could be bestowed upon you.

I didn’t fit in so well myself, but you know that. Fortunately for us both, I found my place in the High Garda, and that brought me back to you. We always come back to each other, don’t we?

Shh, love, don’t try to talk. I know. I love you, too. I am here. Rest your throat. Listen.

You took my breath away when I saw you again, three years later, on the platform of the train station. You looked taller, and your beard had grown in, but more than that, the Scholar’s robe suited you. Some Scholars look like they’re drowning in those things - you know that. But not you. You looked like the very ideal we’d sworn to defend with that black silk billowing around you.

You barely took notice of any of us on your way to the train, and for the entire 5-day ride, you only emerged from your quarters to take your meals in the dining car. Most of the time, you brought a book with you, sometimes two, and ate while reading, never looking up at the soldiers standing watch over you. We weren’t permitted to eat during your mealtimes, so you had the entire car to yourself save for the lucky - or, I suppose, unlucky, for those who took less pleasure in watching you - few who were assigned to guard the car.

Once, and only once, I saw you look away from your books. The train was passing through the mountains, and the view from the bridge we were crossing was so spectacular that it must have caught even your critical eye. You looked up, and turned toward the window, and for just a moment, the mask of arrogant indifference fell away. Your mouth opened, just slightly, and your eyes widened, taking in the expanse of the sky, the height of the peaks, the distant shimmer of the river far below.

I think that was when I started not only to admire you, but to love you.

The arrogance was back when I next saw you, after we’d arrived in Russia. You were the very image of the Stormcrow, all in flowing black, a heavy cloak over your Scholar’s robe and your long hair loose beneath the hood, dark and fierce and dangerous. You stepped down from the train as if you owned the entire world.

It was more than a little amusing, I must admit, to see you doubled over and gasping for breath an instant later. The reason was immediately obvious to those of us who’d paid attention during pre-mission briefings: you’d just taken an audibly deep breath, and your entire face was exposed, your scarf worn low and fashionable around your neck.

I’ve already told you how funny you looked, all wild-eyed panic. Let’s not dwell on that now, hmm? I thought then that you must have been so arrogant you ignored the warnings about the cold, but after seeing how they’ve treated you all these years, I don’t think they ever really told you what it was like outside Alexandria, did they?

Bastards. 

But you also looked so scared, so lost, that I couldn’t have laughed at you if I were allowed to. That hand on your shoulder was the least I could do. I wanted to do more. Especially when you looked up at me.

I thought you might have recognized me then. Remembered me. Yes, I know you didn’t. But you looked at me like I was the most amazing thing you had ever seen, and all I wanted to do was put an arm around you, and wrap that cloak a little tighter around you, and tuck the loose strands of your hair back into your fur-lined hood.

Hmm. We still have that cloak, don’t we? I cannot begin to imagine what it cost you to have that thing laundered. Just a moment, let me look in the closet. I won’t go far.

I settled for talking. Even though I thought you might have remembered me, I introduced myself again. I hoped my rank would impress you. Not many soldiers make lieutenant so young. But not many Scholars earn their gold bands so young, either, and if my rank meant anything to you, you gave no sign of it. But I didn’t miss the way your dark eyes widened, just slightly, when I told you to stay close to me.

On such things are hopes built. Ah, there it is. A little dusty. Let me shake it off. There, yes, that will do nicely.

Here, let me pull back the blanket. Just for a moment; I know how bad the chills are. This is softer, isn’t it? Yes, let me wrap this around you, like I wanted to then. It feels good, doesn’t it? Rest, love, you are safe here.

Shall I continue the story? I kept you close the whole way to the transport, grateful for the excuse to keep my hand on your arm. Just to guide you, of course. I saw you settled into the carriage, the only one in the convoy with padded seats and warm blankets. Warm and safe, just like you are now.

Well, perhaps not so safe as you are now, but I thought so at the time. I was leading a squad ahead to secure the route, and with so many other squads splitting off to run the Burners out of their known hiding places, none of us expected that any would get through to attack the convoy. It was supposed to be us ambushing them, your inspection of the Serapeum covering the movement of our forces. They shouldn’t have even known when we would arrive. We didn’t know just how much the Senior Librarian told his wife, and how much she leaked to the Burners.

They were waiting for us, hiding along the route. I never saw the sniper who took a shot at you. I didn’t see anything at all, even riding in the gunner’s seat and watching the curving roofs of the buildings through the scope of my rifle. We were nearly to the gates of the Serapeum when the shots rang out, and our duty was clear. We had to get inside and establish a secure perimeter, which turned out to be a laughably simple matter. The Burners weren’t there. Not in that courtyard, at least.

I learned of Captain Nghiem’s death by Codex message; near-illegible letters scribbled by one of the soldiers in your carriage. Hardly a minute later, my orders came down from the first lieutenant, now acting captain, who had been at the back of the convoy. She would keep command of the forces outside the Serapeum and clear the Burners out of the city according to plan. I would take charge within the Serapeum. I had a century of our own troops and authorization to command the Serapeum guards if necessary.

I was reviewing the Serapeum security measures with the Russian troops when your carriage sped through the gate, closely followed by the remainder of the forces assigned to the Serapeum. Most of them, at least. We were a transport short, but it was nowhere in sight, and with the fighting in the streets outside, the risk of leaving the gates open any longer was too great. I gave the order to shut the gates and put extra gunners on the walls.

You were the last one out of your carriage, helped down by a soldier who managed only a quick assessment of your condition before you pushed him back and walked away, looking dazed. It was immediately apparent that you had no idea where you were or where you were going; you drifted toward the center of the courtyard as if the slight breeze had caught your black cloak like a sail to blow you along, looking up at the plumes of smoke from beyond the walls as if you might find answers in them.

I almost didn’t hear the single word you spoke, soft and sorrowful amidst the sounds of combat from beyond the walls. You asked then the same thing I find myself wanting to know now: why?

Oh, my love, don’t look at me like that. I know you can’t answer. I don’t expect you to. Shh, listen. Rest.

There was blood on your face, and you didn’t even seem to notice it. You looked at the handkerchief I offered like you had never seen one before in your life. I couldn’t leave you like that, so I wiped the blood away myself. You were so still while I did it. Speechless. I thought perhaps I was being too forward. But you didn’t look unhappy, just surprised. You weren’t used to being cared for.

It helped me, too, to clean that blood away. More than I admitted to myself at the time. No, it wasn’t just that I got to touch you again, although I must confess that I felt sparks in my fingers even with the thin fabric of the handkerchief keeping skin from skin. There was nothing I could do about the captain or the battle going on outside the Serapeum, but I could take care of you. That meant a lot.

As did being able to answer your question. I thought I knew the answers when I responded to you then. But I wasn’t really that much less ignorant than you, was I? We were both so innocent then.

I was more nervous than you knew about taking command. You had… a reputation, my dear. Yes, you know what I mean. You’re proud of it. Still an arrogant ass, just like I said then. That was my nerves talking, you know. I should have been more professional, more respectful of a Scholar.

I did better after that, I think. What did I say? “I have the honor and responsibility of command?” Yes, that sounds right. That’s the proper way to say it, and I think I got it right. I cannot possibly forget the next part, “And from now on, you will not argue one single order I give you.”

Yes, that still gets a smile out of you. Not that you smiled then. You looked at me with more trust and respect than I could possibly have deserved, and you agreed. One conversation, and I’d earned your loyalty. 

It means so much to me to have your trust, even now. Especially now. I will always protect you, Christopher. Always. I am never going to let anyone hurt you again.

What do you need, my love? Are you thirsty? Here, have some more tea. No, this won’t do. It’s gone cold. Let me brew a fresh pot. Just a few minutes. Shall I continue the story after that? Yes? Very well. Rest now. I will be back soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Here we are. It’s done. I made it with honey and lemon again, for your throat. Here, let me help you with the cup. How is it? Sweet enough? Good.

Enough? All right. Are you warm enough still? Comfortable? I’ll fix that pillow.

There, relax now. I’ll continue the story.

You were radiant in the Serapeum, my love. All the uncertainty from outside melted away faster than the snow on your boots once you handed off your cloak and scarf and turned to face the anxious cluster of Serapeum staff. They were planets in your orbit, and you their star. Ah, and I was so glad to have fallen into that orbit.

I still am.

You wasted no time on niceties, demanding the details of the Serapeum’s operation while marching us all along the halls. The poor Senior Librarian tried to engage you in conversation about the history and features of the building, but you had no patience for it, sharply redirecting him with questions about the staff and collections. Knowing your reading habits, I suspect you’d already read about the architecture on the train. I caught you stealing glances at some of the more impressive details while we walked. It was a gorgeous building, wasn’t it?

But none of it was more beautiful than that amber vault. Beautiful and dangerous, though I don’t think you saw the danger right away. You were too captivated by the glow of the amber and the shelves of original books. You got that look in your eyes that every Scholar gets at the sight of books, like hunger or lust or longing, and you all but snatched the list of books from the Senior Librarian’s hands when he offered it to you.

It was - it still is - a joy to watch you work. To see your dark eyes darting back and forth across the page, your lips pressed thin, your regal posture as you held the book out in one hand, the index finger of your other hand sliding steadily down the page. There was such a graceful curve to your neck as you looked down at the page. I could just see it through the waves of your hair, and I wanted so much to sweep that hair aside and kiss the bare skin beneath.

Oh, that desire has never lessened. I could kiss that lovely neck now. May I? 

Mmmm… I will never tire of that. 

I might have stood there for hours just watching you, but your finger froze on the page, and your lips turned downward, and within minutes you had us all searching the shelves. Such a demanding taskmaster you were, my love, snapping out orders to us and questions to the Senior Librarian, your pen racing across the page as you stalked between the shelves. I’ve met drill sergeants more forgiving.

Once you’d compiled your list of missing books, you turned your efforts to the search for those responsible for their loss. At that, too, you did brilliant work. You asked such insightful questions when you int-

Chris? What is it? Does something hurt? Can you show me? No… not that? Oh. _Oh._

Oh, my love, I’m so sorry. I should have thought. You don’t want to hear about this. Of course you don’t. Let’s skip over this part, shall we? There are more pleasant parts of the story to tell. Warmer memories.

That night, for instance, when I came to your room. I wouldn’t have left your side at all, had duty not demanded it. It was my duty to see to your safety, and I did the best job of it I could, setting up decoy rooms to draw off anyone who might seek you out with bad intentions and stationing my troops to intercept any threats. Because that is what I do, Christopher, beloved, I protect you.

I will not fail you again. I promise.

My heart raced when you granted me entry to your room. I confess, I had hoped I might find you undressed, or at least out of uniform, but there you were at the window, still draped in that black silk robe. You turned to face me, and I caught a glimpse of that lost and lonely look from the courtyard again, and then a twitch of a smile, before you schooled your face into a professional mask.

I had planned out a report to give you. That was my excuse to be in your room, after all. But one look at your face and I forgot it all. I didn’t want you to look at me like that, so cool and distant. I wanted to see a smile. So I asked how you were, if you’d eaten. No surprise you hadn’t had the stomach for anything. Few soldiers do, after their first real fight.

I suspected you wouldn’t sleep either, not with the tension I could see in your posture. You needed something to take the edge off, to dull the ache. I knew that feeling well enough already, so I offered you the same comfort I sought for myself: a drink.

Well, honestly, I thought I was offering more. I had hoped we might find comfort in each other that night. It never occurred to me that a Scholar as brilliant and gorgeous as you could be so inexperienced.

Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t say there was anything wrong with that, did I? I’m honored to have been your first.

But that was later. That night, the only thing I introduced you to was vodka. I don’t know about you, but I can’t taste it without remembering that night, the sight of you standing there in that opulent room, framed by the view of Moscow through the window behind you. You were so dark against the pale backdrop of ice and snow, and yet you shone more brightly than every glow in the city. And you let me pour you a drink.

Ah, yes, I did leave the bottle of vodka here, didn’t I? I forgot about that, after last night. Shall we have a drink? A toast to finding each other? Not too much for you, love, not with the painkillers you’ve taken. Here, just a taste.  _ Za vas _ .

Yes, good, strong Russian medicine. We both needed it then, didn’t we? Both of us out of our depth and alone in a strange place. The burn of it takes the edge off, doesn’t it? Even before the alcohol kicks in.

You tolerate it so much better now than you did that night. The look on your face… Sorry, sorry. I’m a soldier, and you know how we drink. I forgot that Scholars favor wine.

We will get a good bottle of wine to celebrate your return when you are well again. You have my word.

I thought that after a bit of vodka, you might relax and forget about the stress of the day. But you tend toward melancholy under the influence, and you mistook my flirtation entirely. I still stand by what I said, though, “I think you’ll bring a great deal of storms with you from now on.” You have, haven’t you? We both have. And we’ve made it through each one together.

I wasn’t thinking quite so far ahead when I said that, of course. I was thinking of how soft your lips looked and how much I wanted to run my fingers through your hair. I hoped you would kiss me. I hoped we might find out way into that luxurious bed and into each other’s arms. I wanted to know what your skin would feel like against mine, and how our bodies might come together.

But instead, you offered me something so much more intimate. You offered me your fears and your doubts and your hopes. You let me see how ignorant you’d been of the world beyond Alexandria, how misled you were by your mentors, how devastated you were by the reality you’d found there in Russia. You offered me your heart that night, even if you did frame it so very awkwardly.

“If I should ask for you to be assigned to me from now on, would that be acceptable?” Really, Christopher? Yes, we can both laugh about it now, but you caught me off guard. I would have considered myself fortunate to spend one night in your arms, and there you were offering me a lifetime at your side. How could I have done anything but agree?

And how could I have done anything after that but bid you goodnight? You were so very vulnerable then, and both of us were drinking too much, too fast. There was too much alcohol in that room, and that bed was too tempting, and I couldn’t risk hurting you.

It was hard to walk away, once the door was shut. I stood there a while, hoping and fearing that you might summon me back to you. I do not think I could have refused, had you asked.

But you didn’t ask. I should have gone to sleep after leaving your room that night, but I was too restless, my mind racing with the echoes of your words and the day’s events. I wasted time checking and rechecking the security measures I had put in place. And by the time I returned to my room to sleep... 

Ah, no, you don’t want to hear about this part, do you? You know already what happened. You’ve heard me tell the story of that fight at the Hive enough times. Let us skip past that now.

I am told you were every bit the stormcrow in your pursuit of me. I am told you were fierce and commanding, and oh, how I wish I could have seen you then. You could have been an avenging angel, beautiful and terrible, when I saw you in the amber vault.

An avenging angel who lectured me while we waited for the Medicas. I loved you all the more for that. Talking to you gave me something to hold on to, and I needed that then. Yes, you’ve earned that smug smile of yours, my dear. Your chiding might have saved my life. Your quick actions and quicker thinking certainly did.

You found me, and I can never repay you enough for that. I wish that I could say that I found you. Oh, Christopher, I failed you. I should have… no, this isn’t the time. You don’t need to hear my regrets now. We found each other again, and that is all that matters now.

I woke much later to see you at my bedside, more unkempt than I had ever seen you, with rumpled, bloodstained clothes and wild, tangled hair. Even then, you were beautiful, for all that I teased you. You are still beautiful. Even now.

I missed all the rest of the action, of course. By the time I woke, you had already completed the job of uncovering the Serapeum’s corruption. I’m told you ordered my troops about from my bedside, and they didn’t dare complain. I would have liked to see that. But I’ve seen you accomplish so much more since then, I can hardly complain. 

And you were right, Chris, we’ve saved each other, in the long run. We’ve been through war zones, and traveled the world, and we’ve saved each other from every danger we faced. How many times have you tended to my injuries? It’s my turn now, my love, my turn to save you, to help you heal.

I will stay by your side until you are well again, just as you did for me then.

Do you want me to come closer? Lay back, and I will lay beside you. Are you comfortable being held like this? There, rest, you are safe here in my arms.

You look tired. Close your eyes and sleep, my dear. I will be here. I will be right here when you wake. Rest now. I love you, my stormcrow.


End file.
